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lacheri · 3 years

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|| moon river. || part iii. ||

|| masterpost || taglist form || part ii. || part iv. ||

pairing: Levi x fem bodied reader

chapter content: modern au, neighbors au, coworkers au, sadness/loneliness, nervousness, mentions of reader's past (sad, my bad), mentions of bad relationships with a parent (reader reflects on her mother and her impact on her life), emotional angst, alcohol, minors do not interact.

summary: in which you work your first shift at your new job with Levi and get to know him a little better.

wc: 7k (FUCK)

a/n: thank u to the beautiful people in my gc @esroh06 and Mochi for beta-ing!! thank you to @coffeeforday and @chaotic-nick for also helping me with the little translation I have!

this story is fully taking over my motivation, I cannot stop writing. hope u enjoy <3

The only times you didn’t fight with your mother was when you watched her cook. The focused look in her eye, the purse of her concentrated pout — she looked comparable to a warrior readying for battle. Delicious, mouth watering smells would accompany the vivacious crackling and sizzling of the pans. To this day, if you catch a waft of garlic and onions, it takes you straight back to when you were a young girl standing by your mother’s side in her kitchen.

You’d get in her way, of course, but she never reprimanded you. In fact, she would beam with delight that her daughter had been so interested in the culinary arts. For a long time, you had wanted to grow up to be a chef. Your mother taught you love in food, in the culture of it. No language is needed when it comes to dishes, only pure happiness and selflessness. You’re thankful she taught you that, in the end you think it’s made you who you are today.

Of course, your cooking has never been as good as hers, but you try your best despite the fact.

One of her many culinary talents is being able to cook without following a recipe. Judging tablespoons and cups with her eyes, spice and seasoning ratio by gut feeling, she was a genius in the kitchen. You wonder often why she never became a chef herself, and when you would ask her, all doe eyed and inspired, she’d answer simply.

“I cook because I love it. I don’t want to get paid for something I hold near and dear to my heart.”

And you had watched her struggle your entire life. Sat behind a desk, taking bullshit from her bosses, late nights in the office. But when she’d bring in a plate to the holiday parties, your mother would come home with an unimaginable amount of gifts and thank you cards. She’s a shining light, loved by all. Even you, still. Even after all of this.

The timer on your oven chimes with a deafening beep, and you shake your head. You don’t mean to, but you get lost in your thoughts a lot of the time. You’ve always been this way, and doubt you’ll ever change.

“You’re a dreamer, love.”

She’d be angry that this is the second night in a week you’ve cooked yourself soup. She’d be even more angry if she could taste it. It’s an imitation of her homemade recipe, poorly executed and mediocre at best. But it fills your stomach and there’s always plenty of leftovers. You only know how to cook for two people anyways.

The stove beeps again, and you sigh. Taking the lid off the steaming pot, your soup bubbles with the release of trapped air. You turn the burner off, and your growling stomach disagrees with the fact you need to let the meal cool before you can even think of lifting a spoon to your drooling tongue. You pout, and you wait.

Mom says to wait at least a half an hour after cooking soups, anyways. Or anything that boils for that matter.

You miss her, the woman she was in your childhood. You wonder if she recognizes herself in the mirror these days.

You pour yourself a bowl even though you can hear her reprimanding in your brain, a record playing on loop. You realize it sounds different every time, like a cover. You learned somewhere a long time ago that every time you remember something, you essentially create a brand new version of it in your head. You can never remember the same thing twice. You find that sort of beautiful.

You burn your tongue when the spoon hits your tastebuds, but you’re too preoccupied setting up your phone on your counter to continue watching that show you started yesterday. It helps pass the time, as you have no idea at what point Levi will come collect you for your shift.

You’re all dressed up and ready to go. You took notes of Petra’s look -- a low cut black shirt paired with black jeans. Your sneakers look sad on your feet, and you decide you’ll indulge in a new pair of shoes after you get paid. And after the rent and bills are taken care of, of course.

It’s nearing five in the afternoon and you’re starting to doubt if Levi will ever show up. Although, bars open up later in the day, right? This could be bad for your already established schedule — late nights bleeding into early mornings, sleeping in until noon, poor time management. It’s a job nevertheless, and begrudgingly you’ll have to accept the new found fate of your employment. It’ll work itself out, you’re sure. At least you’ll be able to live here a little longer.

You watch an entire two episodes of your show before you hear the soft knocking on your door. Your ears perk, and you practically fly over to your front door. You inspect yourself in the distant mirror hung on the wall in your bedroom, and deem yourself appropriate. Though, maybe you should’ve worn just a regular shirt. Your breasts smush together in the ‘v’ formation of the collar, but hey, maybe you’ll get a good amount of tips your first night.

You open the door with a smile, “Hi!”

Levi stands with his hands in his pockets, cool and collected. His hair falls neatly along his forehead, his shirt is ironed and free of any wrinkles — not to mention, it’s clinging desperately to his torso. His pants fit perfectly along his lower half, and you can’t deny how handsome he looks. Especially with that stoic expression he adorns, as if he has not a single care in the world. Levi looks really cool.

“You ready to go?” he jabs his thumb towards the hallway, his eyes trained on yours. You watch as they flicker down, finding amusement in the way they immediately shoot back up to your face.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you beam, slinging your purse over your shoulder, allowing the bag to fall against your hip. You close and lock your front door, and Levi side steps to give you space to step forward. His hands are still stationed in his pockets, you can feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your head.

“Most late night shifts for the bartenders start anywhere from six in the afternoon to eight, depending on the weekday,” Levi mutters as he follows behind you, making your way down the stairwell. “Hange hates when people are late, so try not to be.”

“Really? Seems like you stroll in whenever you want,” you tease harmlessly. “You were late yesterday.”

“I was there, just didn’t want to see your annoying face too early,” he scoffs.

“Sure,” you chuckle. “Whatever you say to make yourself feel better.”

The walk is fairly quiet then after you make it down the stairs and out the lobby doors. Levi takes the initiative then, stepping on the sidewalk closest to the street and leading the way. You quirk your lips, a smile tugging behind your teeth at the gesture. What a gentlemanly jerk.

The outside air is crisp with the promise of the changing seasons. The leaves and greens that line the city streets have yet to transition to their yellows and oranges, still alive and kicking with the warm late summer sun. The sidewalks are fairly crowded, as people rush home from their day jobs in their stuffy suits. You’ve learned that the people tend to walk everywhere, and use public transportation as a means of travel. You have yet to meet anyone who owns a car, which even from where you’re from is deemed a luxury.

You pass a couple of blocks before you speak again to Levi’s profile, “Oh, so this is why I got lost yesterday. We’re literally walking straight to the bar.”

“What, did you take a few turns to get there?” Levi humors you in a response. You watch as his hair gets caught in a slow breeze, the locks fluttering, revealing his undercut. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but the shape up is immaculate. Straight, crisp lines and nearly no mistakes. He must really take pride in his appearance.

“Yeah,” you laugh breathlessly. “Had to ask a bunch of different people where to go, thankfully they spoke English.”

“Most people do here.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “But everyone I’ve talked to has been speaking French this entire time? Even you, when we first met.”

“You mean when you ran into me because you weren’t paying attention?” Levi scoffs. “The official language is French, but because of all the tourists, most of us know bits and pieces of English. Some of us are lucky enough to be fluent. You have a shitty language, it’s hard to learn.”

“So you grew up here?” you inquire out of curiosity.

“We’re here.”

You’re too caught up in the way Levi throws a pointed look over his shoulder, his eyes warning and hard set. They’re beautiful, you acknowledge this every time you get the chance to see them. Levi is beautiful.

He also completely avoided your question.

You continue to follow him inside the bar, glancing side to side as you take in the crowd, or lack thereof. You recognize one of the older gentlemen from yesterday, sat in the same stool leaning against the counter. There’s a jukebox somewhere to the left playing Patsy Cline, uncharacteristic from what you assumed would play in a French bar. Nevertheless, you sway to the melody.

“Hey guys!” Petra stands behind the bar, smiling wide and waving. Her gorgeous locks are thrown up in a messy bun today, a loose long sleeve shirt covering her frame. Still, her smile is enchanting and wondrous. You really want to get to know her better.

Levi nods his head in her direction while you greet her vocally. There’s not much of a chance to start up a conversation though, as Levi is already making his way towards the door to the back hallway, and you’re hot on his trail. He at least holds the door open for you, and you thank him quietly.

“When we come in, we sign our initials on this clipboard,” the ravenette plucks the wooden surface off a nail on the wall. A pen is attached by a metal clip, it reminds you of a doctor’s office in a funny way. Levi continues, “After that, your shift starts. You sign it when you leave.”

“What about schedules?” you tilt your head, seeing no such thing on the wall. It’s littered with plenty of bill statements and random flyers, but no sign of a schedule.

“Hange sends us pictures of it,” he shrugs. “You don’t need to worry about that for now though. You’ll be working with me until you get the hang of things, or until you quit.”

“What makes you say I’ll quit?” you don’t mean for your tone to come off defensive, but it does.

His icy orbs roll in their sockets, “It’s a shitty job.”

“Aren’t you an optimist?” you grumble.

“I think I’m more of a nihilist, if we’re putting labels on things.”

You don’t really know how to respond to that, so you don’t. Levi passes the clipboard over to your hands, and you sign your name neatly inside one of the slots listed in the page, with the time. You’re clocked in, and ready to work your very first shift.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

As soon as the two of you re-enter the bar area, Petra is sighing dreamily. She slams down two glasses she had in her hands along with a cloth, and flings her arms up in the air.

“Thank God you two are early!” she exclaims, already hightailing it to the back hallway. “Happy hour was hell! Au revoir!”

You shoot Levi a concerned, nervous glance, “Is now a bad time to tell you I don’t know a single thing about making drinks?”

“Can’t be a possible way there was ever a good time to tell me that,” he groans, taking Petra’s place of cleaning the glasses. “Can’t speak French and can’t make a drink, you’re a real winner.”

“You offered me this job,” you snipe back. “And I know some drinks. I googled them last night.”

Levi’s expression flattens as he looks at you with absolutely no amusement, “Name one.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, scouring through mental files of stored information. You meekly stumble out, “A vodka cranberry.”

“You’re hopeless,” Levi sighs, closing his eyes in annoyance. “Alright, so I guess we’re learning how to make drinks today then.”

You spend the first hour of your shift taking notes on your phone (or at least you try to), watching as Levi monotonically instructs you on various drinks. He uses French names, and absolutely none of it is familiar to you. If he sees your confusion, he doesn’t comment on it. If he thinks you’re absorbing all this information like a sponge, he’s dead wrong. But still, you nod your head and try your best to learn.

There’s an art form in mixology, you note. The way Levi’s hands hold the bottles of liquor, the way he’s made multiple drinks without spilling a single drop — it’s masterful and beautiful. The words spilling forth from his lips have you entranced, not by the meanings themselves but by the way his voice carries. His tone is deep and gravelly, and you think Levi would make a wonderful professor. He’s really good at teaching, even if you’re not paying a single bit of attention or retaining any of it. You think in this alternate universe, you’d have a crush on him if he was your college professor. You daydream about what he’d look like in a suit while he picks up a bottle — Cognac, you think.

In the back of your mind, you’re wondering if Levi would have a thing for pretty dumb girls in short skirts. If so, you’d wear them everyday to class and purposely score low on your tests.

“You didn’t hear a single thing I said, did you?”

Not a fucking word, “Yes!”

“What was the last thing I said then?”

You blank, caught red handed, “You said how much you love making drinks, and that this is the best job in the world.”

“You should be a comedian,” Levi huffs angrily. His fingers flex around the neck of the bottle as he places it down on the counter. You try to keep your mind out of the gutter, but you fail when you see the way his knuckles turn white.

“You should be a professor,” little does Levi know your response has a hidden meaning behind it.

You wonder how the wood of his desk would feel under your—

Levi snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, “Hey, you coming back to earth or what? Or should I stop wasting my breath?”

Your vision blurs around his fingers as you try to focus. Your hazy sight comes upwards, clearing upon contact with Levi’s fiery eyes. You shake your head to clear your distracting thoughts.

“I’m sorry, it’s just a lot,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m having a hard time understanding any of what you’re saying. It’s not you, it’s just me.”

His expression softens just a bit, his eyes aren’t as heated anymore, “New plan. You’re making the drinks. I’ll tell you what they are.”

You panic slightly, but nod, “Okay. We can try that.”

The bar is considerably more crowded in the next hour. Patrons fill the stools and tables, the jukebox plays consistently on a loop of requested songs, and people are shouting drink orders at the two of you. You’re scrambling behind the bar, relying on Levi entirely to instruct you how to concoct the elixirs. It’s a disaster. You’re spilling nearly every single drink as you make them.

Levi navigates the crowd easily though you falter, cocktail shakers bouncing loud and liquid poured into glasses of all shapes and sizes. He doesn’t even break a sweat. To him, this is probably a normal Monday night. To you, you feel helpless and in the way. You try not to let that thought take centerfold, but it does, and self doubt creeps in. You’re new, so you think that’s why the customers spare you the heat of their impatience. They lean over and speak directly to the ravenette, although some offer you a smile. This doesn’t help your nerves.

You don’t need to tell Levi you’re losing it either, it’s written all over your face. With a single glance over at you, seeing your fidgeting legs and shaky hands and the ever growing line of customers at the counter’s edge, he speaks your name with an annoyed tone.

“Go take drink orders. There’s a notepad in Hange’s office. I don’t care if you spell it wrong, just write them down.”

“Got it, boss,” you offer a trembling laugh. He sees right through it.

“Say hello instead of bonjour, Petra always speaks in English first,” his eyes never leave the mix he’s creating in front of him. “She’s not from around here either.”

You’re not sure why Levi tells you this, but you’re grateful nonetheless. It actually soothes you a bit, and makes you feel less alone. If Petra can do it, so can you.

You follow Levi’s instructions and make a dash to Hange’s office. You find a small, yellow pad in the disastrous clutter on her desk, a pen directly next to it. Your sneakers beat against the floorboards as you make your way back, and with a fleeting glance to Levi, you’re out taking orders.

It’s a lot easier than you anticipated.

You take your time approaching the first table, preparing a monologue of apologies for not speaking the official language of the city. You pick the safest option presented, a group of three girls you think are around your age. They’re laughing boisterously, smiling wide and their eyes are full of kindness. You clear your throat with a smile, their attention shifting to you.

“Hi! My name is,” you state, ignoring the shake in your legs. “What can I start you guys off with?”

They all share a look, of what you’re not sure, but a lump forms in the thick of your throat and your grip tightens on the pad in your hands. One girl, a pretty brunette, shrugs at her friends and turns to you.

“Do you guys do margaritas here?”

You could cry, “Honestly, not sure, but I can check with the bartender. Do you guys have backups, just in case?”

The brunette turns her head towards her friends, and translates easily in French. The two form an ‘o’ shape with their mouths, and speak directly to the brunette. She laughs, says something you don’t know, and faces back to you, “Whatever house specials you have tonight, then.”

You messily write down the orders, along with ‘ask about margs’, and beam, “Okay! I’ll find out about the margaritas too!”

“Thank you!”

“Merci!”

Yeah, you’re going to have a good cry after you’re finished up tonight.

They instill a new found confidence in you, so you approach the next tables that are barren with drinks. The other customers aren’t as well versed in your foreign tongue, but they at least try. Maybe they take pity on you, you can only imagine how nervous you look, but they’re at least nice to you and wait for you to write down their requests before adding additional ones. Notepad full of orders within the span of ten minutes, you hurry back over to Levi.

You proudly lay the pad flat on the underside of the bar counter, smiling ear to ear, “I did it!”

“Want a medal?” the ravenette rolls his eyes, but his face relaxes as he reads over the orders. “No, we don’t do margaritas. We aren’t in the States.”

You stifle a laugh, “Because this is such a classy place?”

Levi’s lips twitch, “Apparently not when you’re around. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked for a margarita. Must be tourists or something.”

“You have a vendetta against tourists?” your eyebrow arches in amusement.

He turns away to grab all the necessary liquors stacked on the shelf, “Just one. She’s annoying and somehow ended up working at my job.”

“Funny, if she remembers right, you offered her the job,” you snipe back, reaching for clean glasses stacked next to the shelving.

“Must’ve been a lapse in judgement.”

You roll your eyes, a subtle grin on your lips. As soon as Levi starts mixing the drinks, you’re heading right back out on the floor to deliver the goods. You accidentally switch up a few orders, but other than that, you don’t spill a drop or lose your grip on any of the glasses. You even remember to bring straws with you. You internally pat yourself on the back, happy your nerves are finally settling.

The rest of the night goes by like this, running back and forth between tables and Levi. You try to ignore the look of sheer annoyance on his face, telling yourself it’s not you, it’s the customers who are pissing him off. With snippy responses and glares in your direction, you come to realize it’s definitely you that’s pissed him off.

Levi should’ve asked you if you had experience in the service industry before offering you a position. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so mad. Jerk.

It’s around midnight before the bar empties. The only crowd left is a small group of young adults, three of them sitting at a table, keeping to themselves as they drink their cognacs and laugh boisterously. You’re wiping down tables nearby, taking occasional glances over to the friends.

They remind you of your old friends back at home. You’d get together at your local dive and share your daily woes over a pitcher of whatever cheap beer you guys could afford that night. A pang hits your heart, deep and sorrowful. You didn’t tell them you were leaving.

You wonder if Eren, Mikasa, and Armin miss you as much as you miss them.

You imagine they’re at that bar at home huddled together at a booth, laughing away and enjoying themselves, enjoying their youth. Eren is probably picking on Armin as usual, and Mikasa is most likely chastising Eren and his crude humor. Your seat is empty in reality, but in your imagination, you’re there alongside them, shooting your own comebacks at the brunette.

“Your hairline is gonna recede if you keep putting it up in that greasy man bun,” you’d tease, taking a large swig of your mug.

“And who flunked out of college?” Eren would hiss through his teeth, nudging your side with his elbow. You’d probably choke on your beer, coughing in spurts.

“Too bad daddy’s money couldn’t save my test scores, unlike someone,” you’d elbow him right back.

Eren would place his palm over his heart, feigning mock sadness, “How dare you. It was mommy’s money actually.”

“Boo hoo, the woes of a rich boy,” and the two of you should share a laugh while Eren wrapped his long arm around you, pulling you in to bark his chuckles into your ear. He was always too loud when he laughed, but Eren could light up a room with his smile.

Armin would probably shoot looks between the two of you, worried you had dug too deep. You and Eren were always like that though, bickering like a brother and sister would. Armin would always offer an apologetic smile, but he knew. He knew the bonds between all of you were unbreakable, no matter what was said or done.

Poor Mikasa. She’s probably punching Eren in his stupid good looking face right now over some smart comment, and Armin’s probably all frazzled trying to calm down the two. It hurts to think about her, you two were the closest out of the four. So you don’t.

You blink, and the images of their faces are gone. Just like you are.

“You gonna space out every shift?”

You didn’t even realize you had returned behind the bar, rag and disinfectant in hand, “Sorry, just been kind of distracted today.”

Levi sends you an apathetic glance, “Get your head on straight. You’re not going to keep a job if you can’t use your brain, however small it is.”

You think he might be joking, so you reply, “I think I did quite well for someone who doesn’t know a single thing about being a bartender!”

“You spilled every single drink you made. You don’t speak French. You charged the customers all wrong, I had to go and fix all the mistakes,” he hisses through his teeth, crossing his arms. “The only thing you got right was taking the orders.”

“But I did something right,” your tone softens, his words cutting in deep. “I’m sorry, it’s just hard—“

“Hard to listen when you’re being told to do something?” the feeling in your chest feels funny, like your heart has solidified in your rib cage.

“Levi,” you mutter, confused at his sudden change in attitude. You thought you had been getting along with him so well tonight, even if he had been acting moodier than what you’ve seen so far, “I’ll do better next time. I really will. I’m sorry if I was a pain tonight, it won’t happen again. I need this job. I’ll do better.”

“Prove it then. I’m not here to be your babysitter, or your friend. I’m trying to teach you how to work this place by yourself, like Hange told me to do.”

Ouch.

“I’m appreciative, really,” you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. “I will. I’ll prove it.”

“Good,” Levi finally turns his heated gaze away from you, watching as the group of friends leave through the front door. “Lock up, I’ve had enough of tonight.”

You walk away with a dejected stride, following his instructions. With a quick flick of a series of locks, the front door bolts and locks shut for the night. The lights outside dim, and you can only assume Levi is the cause. The low hanging light fixtures located across the ceiling inside also flicker, leaving the entire bar in soft, yellow lighting.

You’re unsure of what to do next, so you search for the ravenette. You find him in the hallway, flipping through bill statements previously pinned to the wall.

“Hey, so, what next?” you ask quietly.

Levi doesn’t look away from the paperwork, “Wipe down everything. I’m gonna take care of some of these.”

“Isn’t that Hange’s job?” you can’t stop yourself from inquiring.

“Supposed to be. If it was left entirely up to them, this place would be shut down in a week.”

“So does that make you a manager here or something?”

“Yeah, it does.”

Oh. Oh fuck.

You royally screwed up your first day then. You hadn’t known this, that Levi was a manager. His anger and impatience makes a lot more sense now. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, you suppose.

You stand with your jaw slacked, ready for a flurry of apologies to fly past your lips. Levi silences you before you can spew them out.

“Yeah, I can fire you. I’m not going to.”

You find sudden interest in the floorboards, you wonder how old they are as you say, “I’ll do my best next shift, promise.”

Levi grunts in a reply, already heading towards the office. Your teeth worry your bottom lip, you can feel the chapped skin as your tongue smoothes over the grooves you’ve self inflicted. You decide not to hesitate any longer, or to bother Levi with any of the questions dancing in the back of your head, so you turn back towards the bar and retrieve your cleaning items.

If there’s one thing you can do completely right, it’s wipe down a table.

You leave your thoughts behind as you work, not delving into the many memories and monologues stored in your brain though you’re tempted. You’ve let your mind overwork you today, and you feel defeated in that way. Instead, you thank your body for being healthy, you thank your good luck, and most of all, you thank Levi for not firing you the second you become frazzled.

It’s nearing one thirty in the morning before he returns back to the floor, your purse in hand. You’ve already put away your supplies, and stacked the dirty glasses off to the side. Footsteps echo in the normally loud space, it’s hard to miss his reappearance.

You face him, “Oh, thanks for grabbing my stuff. What do you want me to do with the glasses?”

Levi shrugs, “It’s been a long day. We’ll clean them when we open. Besides, I don’t like them to dry overnight. They get sticky.”

You refrain from asking him to clarify, both about the ‘we’ and the logic behind the glasses. You simply nod, and take your bag from his hold. He’s silent as he goes about turning all the lights off, unlocking the door, allowing you to step forward first. The keys jingle in his hands as he locks it from the outside.

The air is cold and the city is quiet. It’s unusual for you to be out this late on the street, used to perching on your balcony at this time instead. In a way, you find it sort of humorous how all week you’ve been people watching, all for you to suddenly become one of them. Maybe there’s some other runaway girl sitting on her balcony with her dying plant watching you.

You hug yourself, trying to trap your warmth between your palms. It leaves you anyway.

Levi starts walking back to your apartment building without a word, and you’re too focused on the thought that you had thoroughly angered him to start up a conversation. You listen to the way your footsteps make a rhythmic beat, though out of sync with Levi’s, and pay attention to the flashing lights of the street lamps. Their bulbs are dying out, probably. It’s a moonless night, the blackness of the sky paints everything darker. You probably wouldn’t have noticed the lamps otherwise.

Around the halfway point back home, Levi clears his throat, “I can’t believe someone tried to order a margarita.”

The night doesn’t feel as frigid anymore. A smile tugs at your lips, “You’re telling me that was really the first time someone tried to order one?”

“Yes,” the ravenette hisses, hands shoved in his pockets. “Almost went over there myself to tell them no.”

“Oh, the audacity,” you giggle breathily. “Maybe they thought since I speak English, we served those kinds of drinks.”

“You might as well have been wearing an ‘I heart New York’ shirt, putain de merde,” Levi scoffs, and your apartment building comes into view.

(For fuck’s sake.)

“Maybe I’ll wear it next shift,” you playfully jive, letting your arms fall to your side. Levi is a gentleman even if he is a jerk, so he places himself in front of you to open and hold the doors. You thank him with a smile, and you’re greeted by the stale, lukewarm air of your lobby. You sigh gratefully, “So happy to be back. So, boss, when’s the next shift?”

“Didn’t you hear me earlier? Or were you spacing out again?” he rolls his eyes as the two of you ascend up the stairwell. “Tomorrow when we open.”

“When do we open?”

“Sometime around noon, I’ll come over again.”

“Sounds like an excuse to see me,” you bite your tongue to conceal a wicked smirk. “Friend?”

“You pissed me off today. We’re the opposite of friends.”

“Oh,” you draw out the sound, allowing a beat of silence to follow suit before you continue. “Lovers, then?”

“I’d have to like you for us to be even close to that. You’re annoying.”

“So you’re walking me to and from work because you hate me?”

“Yep,” his lips pop on the ‘p’, and all too soon do your neighboring apartment doors come into sight. “Community service.”

This earns a hearty laugh from your chest, “Right. Well, I like you, even if you’re a jerk. I don’t make my cupcakes for just anyone, you know.”

His icy orbs snake to the corners of his eyes, narrowing his lids, “Should’ve made them as an apology for running into me.”

“My friendship cupcakes will not be tainted with an apology. Besides,” you decide to untuck the heart on your sleeve, though it remains unconcealed most of the time anyways. “It all worked out, so thanks for standing in front of my door like a weirdo. Thanks for everything, Levi.”

The hallway seems fitting enough at this moment to spend an entire night out here, if it means you get to watch the way Levi’s expression softens completely. His entire body relaxes, the two of you standing right outside your door. The pine frame feels like an exit you don’t want to take.

“If you fuck up tomorrow you’re fired. And for the record, I was not standing outside your door. My apartment is right next to yours, if your small brain can remember that.”

You don’t comment on the subtle blush that blossoms over his cheeks, nor the way his pupils hone in on the floor. You don’t even comment that he’s started fidgeting — his fingers tugging at the opening of his pant pockets. Levi looks really cute when he’s denying he actually likes you.

You decide to make it a personal mission to get him to admit he wants to be your friend.

“Either way,” you nearly whisper, afraid you might tear up at the sentimental value your words hold. “I’m really grateful. Thanks for walking me to and from work too.”

Levi rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if his words mean nothing, “People are disgusting and I don’t doubt they’ll take advantage of a pretty girl walking alone in a city. Community service, remember?”

Levi thinks you’re pretty. Oh.

“Sure,” you stutter, ignoring your own heat rushing to the skin of your face and ears. “Thanks.”

His lips twitch, his eyebrows furrow. His mouth opens and closes. A syllable echos his throat, cutting it off with a grunt.

You do the same.

Seems like neither of you know what to say.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” you try to hide the sadness in your tone. You really like Levi and his smart mouth. You don’t want to say goodbye.

You’d like to think he doesn’t want to either, as he blurts, “You need to get new shoes, too. I saw you stumble a few times. You’ll break your neck if you keep spilling drinks and fall.”

You snort obnoxiously, “Will do. Good night, Levi.”

The ravenette simply nods, forcing his legs to move from their spot to make way to his own front door. You wait with your hand on your doorknob, waiting for Levi to make it safely inside. Or maybe you just want to watch the way his hands work his locks, the way his face smoothes in concentration. You’re glad you stayed to watch, as his pupils snake over to the corners of his eyes once again, and he scoffs. Then, as quick as he does this, he disappears behind old wooden framing with a gentle slam.

You follow suit with a wide grin. Oh what a day it has been.

That pesky need to cry has escaped you once again. Bummer.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you set alarms on your phone for the early morning. You plan out tomorrow’s outfit, and shower before heading to bed. You fold your dirty laundry and set the clothes in a corner. You really do need to buy that hamper with wheels.

You take a tall, cold glass of water out to your balcony to dump on your begonia. You smile at your beloved plant friend, feeling more like a plant mom. You’ve got a job, and laugh to yourself at the idea of providing your begonia with a stable income like a parent truly would. You step back inside to refill the glass, and set it on your nightstand to water your precious plant again in the daylight.

You reheat a bowl of soup and down the contents with lightning speed. You wash it with your utensils in the sink, and set them back where they belong in the cabinets. You think about what Levi said earlier, about the glasses getting sticky overnight, and chuckle to yourself. What a ridiculous idea.

You wear your favorite robe and turn off all the lights in your home. Your bed is warm and cozy despite the evening chill, and you fall asleep the second your head hits the pillow — the first time this has happened since you’ve moved into your darling apartment.

But best of all, you wake up five minutes before your first alarm goes off in the morning. This blessing in disguise gives you ample amount of time to cook yourself a hearty breakfast and dress yourself accordingly for today’s shift. You poke and prod around in your makeup bag, opting for a lighter look with a gentle shimmer in the corners of your eyes. You feel pretty once you’ve finished, delighted and filled with confidence. You intend to make good on your promise to your neighbor turned boss.

You’re going to do a great job today, even if it kills you. Well, maybe not all that, but you’re going to try your hardest. You owe it to yourself, you owe it to Levi.

You’re standing outside your front door just as your wall clock chimes it’s noon, fiddling with the ties on your sneakers. Levi is right. You do need new shoes.

You nearly fall over when a piece of laminated paper obstructs your vision. You cry out, feeling a warm hand grasp your bicep to steady you, and you whip your head up.

Levi is wearing his hair slicked back today.

“Starting your day off by falling over, seems promising,” he remarks sarcastically. Your eyes fall to the paper in his other hand, the light from the hallways bouncing off the plastic, “Take it.”

You bring yourself up to a full stand, Levi’s grip falling from your upper arm, and you find yourself missing the contact. He transfers the laminate into your hold, and with unfocused eyes, you drink in the contents.

“You made me a drink cheat sheet?” your mouth falls open as you blink furiously. When you tilt your head back up to take a good look at the ravenette, he’s scowling at the ceiling, “Thank you.”

“It’s so you don’t fuck up anymore today.”

You can’t help but smile at his hardly secretive act of kindness. It spreads a warmth in you, foreign yet somehow familiar.

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of thanking the man in front of you.

“Wasn’t planning on it, boss.”

“Cut it out with the nickname,” Levi rolls his those pretty grey eyes, not obstructed by his locks usually dangling across his forehead.

“You look good with your hair like that,” you smirk as he begins to walk away. A tiny bun reveals itself above the back of his undercut, “You should wear it like that more often.”

“I need a haircut. It’s the only reason it’s back, gets in the way.”

You hum in response, trying not to swoon at his dashing good looks and rollercoaster of words and actions. What a walking contradiction of a man.

Your second shift goes by a lot faster than last night — and way easier, too. Because of the slow crowds, you have plenty of time to review the sheet Levi has put together for you. Your smile feels real and perfectly slid into place as you greet customers, taking their orders with a quick glance at the laminate. It doesn’t leave your vision the entire day. Levi even silently praises you by leaving you on your own behind the bar to man the kitchen.

Why did no one tell you about the kitchen anyways?

Petra and another man who you’ve yet to meet relieve you of your shift at six o’clock. She bounces in with a brilliant beam, a warm greeting, and a gentle shove to your shoulders.

“Get out of here!” she playfully tells you. “Run, before the regulars pull you back in!”

You laugh in response, “Okay, okay! Let me let Levi know I’m leaving.”

The man disappears behind the door leading to the hallway before you can get a good look at him, so you leave it for another day. Petra incessantly shoo’s you off, smiling prettily at some customers who seat themselves on the stools.

You find Levi in Hange’s office, sifting through even more paperwork. You forget to knock, so you just clear your throat and speak up, “Hey, I’m heading out, you coming too?”

“No,” he rubs a palm over his face, fingers tugging at his temple. “More bills to get done. Don’t forget to sign your name on the sheet on your way out.”

“Will do,” your left foot already steps out, ready to leave Levi to his grueling work.

“Hey,” you stop in your tracks, eyebrows shooting up as you await Levi's words. “You did good today. Keep it up so I don’t have to fire you.”

The corners of your lips upturn, your teeth on full display, “Will do, thanks.”

“Don’t get lost going home.”

“Won’t do, thanks.”

You slowly shut the door behind you, and your grin remains on your face on your short walk home. Thanks to Levi’s guidance, you navigate the bustling streets well. All in perfect time to give your loving spotted plant dinner.

You’ll have to bake Levi a new batch of cupcakes, too. Maybe red velvet this time.

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